I thought I would start radiation this week since I had my CT-RTP on Monday, but it won't start now until next Wednesday afternoon. I'm not sure if it's because I ask so many questions, but that may have added to the reason it will be delayed. I had so many questions that the technician couldn't answer or diplomatically didn't answer, so I came back in on Tuesday and met with Dr. Peacock. He's really pleasant, and I appreciate the fact that he doesn't talk down to me. I felt better in some ways after visiting with him, but in other ways, it caused me to think about my mortality once again.
I really haven't thought about the seriousness of my diagnosis since last fall, and I have had two people mention that they were "re-staged" after surgery, treatment, etc. I asked Dr. Peacock if I would ever be re-staged, and he said that I would always be whatever my initial diagnosis was, Stage IIIa, but that some folks do a re-staging and it would be prefaced with a little "r" in front of it which would denote after treatment staging or re-staging. I think I have that right. Anyway, when I got back to the office on Tuesday and began explaining to Tracy and Cathy what the doctor had said, I began to cry just thinking about how serious this all still is. The doctors are doing their best to cure me of cancer, and I am hoping that is the case. The surgery removed the tumor and the four lymph nodes and the 16 other lymph nodes under my right arm that "might" be affected by some rogue cancer cell floating out there. The PET scan in October showed no aggregates of cancer cells, but just in case there was one single cell floating around, we commenced chemo for eight treatments. And now to hit it once again, we are about to radiate my right breast and "now empty" lymph gland area. Once that's completed, I will start Tamoxifen to bring down my high estrogen levels, and who knows how long I'll be on that drug--at least five years.
Thinking about cancer is really scary, and people don't even like to hear the word or even talk about it unless they have it, and then they talk out of the sheer need for someone to understand what they're going through. Talking to fellow cancer patients has been comforting to me over the past eight months. For folks without cancer, it's uncomfortable talking about something that can kill you. I know before I was diagnosed, I would think of people, "Bless their heart" and think that their time was significantly limited. I often wonder if people now think the same of me? All I know is, I have more cancer survivors on my prayer list than any other category of concerns or illnesses, and that speaks volumes about how this disease is hurting people. These are people who are fighting like hell to survive for themselves and for their families. They want people to believe that they are going to make it. They NEED people to believe that they are going to make it. Cancer is too hard on the person who has it, and the people who surround them need to be strong and full of belief, regardless of how tough it gets.
So, enough of my soapbox. On Monday, I will have a SIM or simulated treatment with electronic radiation that they can see on the computer to make sure the dosing and beam are just right. Dr. Peacock and the dosemetrist will look at it all one more time to see if any final adjustments need to be made, and then I will get my first radiation treatment on Wednesday afternoon. I am hoping that radiation isn't as bad as I am fearing, but fear of the unknown is pretty powerful stuff. I know my last few chemo treatments were horrible, and I hope to goodness that I never have to go through anything like that again. I don't want this to happen to anyone that I love or to anyone that I know. Folks, we need to find a cure.
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